SPN-Fanfiction - Dean and Michael
by spnfanfromeurope
Summary: Spoiler alert. This follows season 13, written before season 14 started. Generalized spoiler alert for everything up to that point. What might be going on with Dean while Michael is driving? Warnings: there will be spankings, some more consensual than others. Triggerwarning: mention of suicide. No ships, no smut. Some four letter words. I own nothing, just playing in the sandbox.


"Dark inhere, isn't it?"

The female voice was soft, but clear. And familiar. Dean looked around, not seeing anything – the voice was right. It was dark. Pitch black, to be precise. Dean lifted a hand and waved his fingers in front of his eyes. Yep. He literally couldn't see a hand in front of his face.

"Billie?" he asked cautiously.  
"Yes, Dean. So, we meet again."  
"Am I dead?" – the word "again" hung unspoken in the unrelenting darkness.  
"No, not yet."  
"Then what… what…?"  
"Oh, I just thought, I'd drop by for a visit. Not to meddle, just to… give you a hint, so to speak."  
"What's going on? Why is it so dark?"  
"Probably because you haven't turned on the lights, Dean."  
"Lights?"  
There was an impatient sigh. "Yes, the lights. Just turn them on."  
"How?" Dean turned in a circle, obviously to no avail, as the darkness didn't care about which way he faced.  
"Well, you could just reach out and pull the string."

Feeling completely at a loss, and starting to get angry, Dean reached out, felt something touch his hand and pulled at it. Then he threw his arms over his face to shield his eyes from the bright light that suddenly flooded everything.

When he could see again, he realized that he was standing in a long hallway with doors side by side in both directions as far as he could see. There was no obvious source of light, everything was just … bright, like it had been just black a moment before. There was no string anywhere. Dean cursed under his breath and turned to face Billie, who was looking at him, head tilted a little to the side.

"You have no idea where you are, do you?"  
"No. Now start talking."  
"What's the last thing you remember?"  
Dean had to think about that for a while.  
"I … said yes to Michael. We killed Lucifer… and Son of a Bitch… Michael took over. That thrice cursed fluffy winged bag of dicks took my body!"

Dean turned a full circle again.  
"Where the Hell am I? Where's Sam? Is Sammy ok? Am I dead? How do I get out? I'm gonna kill that Son of a Bitch deader than dead!"  
His hand was going under his coat, fumbling for a weapon. It was pure habit, he didn't even realize what he was doing.

"Dean." "Dean." "DEAN!"  
"What!?"

"Listen to me. You are inside your mind. Michael stuffed you down into the very depths of your own mind and trapped you here."

Dean looked down the hallway and back a Billie.  
"Minds look like this?"  
"Apparently yours do. It's different for everyone. This is how you chose to make yours look."

Frowning, then shrugging, Dean replied, "Ok, well, could be worse, I guess. What's behind the doors?"  
"Memories. Find the right one, and you might be able to break free."  
"Which one is the right one?"  
"I don't know. It might be one door or a combination of doors. You built it, don't ask me to explain it. Open a few doors, and you'll figure it out."  
"Ah, come on. That's just bullshit. You know what's behind some of those doors."  
"Yes, but still. This is your path."  
"Don't give me that crap, Billie. You have seen what I've seen, you watched from your high horse, while I walked my road. You know damn well why I don't want to go digging through all that old pile of shit."

"Are you sure it'll be that bad to open few of those doors, Dean?"

"Of course it will be. I've finally found some peace in myself, and you want me to go on a tour of all the horrors I've stuffed into those rooms! You know what I mean. I've seen torment, hell, I've done my share of tormenting bodies and souls, innocent or not. I've seen sane men go mad under the pressure of this cursed job, this life, I've seen good men die, I've died. I've seen my brother and best friend die. Everyone I've loved, I've seen die, some of them repeatedly. I've been torn by hounds, chased, jailed, tied, tortured, tricked, cheated, shot, ferchrissake, my brother's even been married once! Stirring up all those old memories will do nobody any good."

Billie's voice was kinder than usual when she calmly replied to Deans rant:  
"There are other memories than bad ones behind some of those doors, maybe that is what you need to learn to get out. Go ahead. Open a few. You'll know which ones to open if you listen to yourself."

Dean ignored that and instead asked flatly:  
"How do I kill Michael?"  
"Well, once you get back control, and manage to cast him out, he'll grab a new vessel, and you can kill him like any other archangel: using the archangel blade."  
"No, I meant from in here! – Can I kill him from inside? If I kill myself in here, will he die?"

Billie stared at him… "Well, no. You'll be dead, and he'll just take over your body completely and keep that running…"  
Dean grimly pulled his 1911 from the back of his jeans.  
"That's fine… Go tell my brother and Cas that I've gone to the Empty and I won't be coming back. Tell them they can kill Michael in my body, they don't have to worry about me … Oow!"

The slap made him take a step sideways to keep from tumbling. He put a hand to his stinging cheek.  
"What was that for?"  
"Being selfish!"  
"What?"  
"You Winchesters and your incessant attempts to become martyrs. Suicide is Not the Answer. And I'll not allow it. You have work to do. You are important. I've told you that before, so you damn well better not turn up in the veil again, or I swear to God and the Darkness, that I'll put you over my knee and spank you before I kick you all the way back down to Earth. And that goes for your brother too. Now. Do as you're told. Open some doors. Find the right one. Get out of here. Go on. Git."

Billie disappeared in a puff of annoyance and Dean stood alone in the glistening hallway, staring at the rows of unmarked doors, all of them completely alike.

Putting the pistol back where it belonged, Dean squared his shoulders and opened a random door.

On the other side it was dark, and raining. Dean was bombarded with a range of feelings: anger, embarrassment, nausea, dizziness and a good dose of raw fear. He reeled under the impact on legs that felt somehow wrong. He felt a hand on his should and wriggled free. His voice sounded weird when he heard himself yell:  
"I hate you!"  
The hand gripped his shoulder again and a firm voice said:  
"Son, you don't like me? That's fine. It's not my job to be liked, it's my job to raise you right."  
Dean realized where he was - in New York - and why he felt so nauseous and dizzy – CBGB, the drinks – then there was a BLINK – and they were in the car. Dad was driving and deeming from the pounding headache it was the next morning after that little CBGB-jaunt. Worst hangover he'd ever had, and there had been some doozies later on in his life.

He cringed a bit as the Impala crunched into the gravel on the road side. Oh, yes, he remembered this part too. Shit.  
They were in a tree covered area, and Dean took a deep mouthful of pine-fresh air as he slowly climbed out of the car. Sam stirred beside him, but before Sam got his door open, Dad bent down to look into the car.  
"Sammy, just stay here, Dean and I are going for a walk, get him some air, and a have a little talk."  
Sam sent his big brother a frightened look, but Dean just shrugged and winked at him.  
"It's ok, I'll be fine," he said, without using any words.

Father and son walked side by side into the shade under the trees.  
They were out of earshot from the car, when John stopped and undid his belt. He looked at Dean.  
"You know why?"  
"Yessir. Sneaking out, getting drunk, yelling at you."  
"Kind of, son, but mostly because that stunt was damn dangerous. You have no idea what kind of trouble you could have gotten into in that bar."

The adult Dean stuffed back into his teen body, hovering in a corner of his own mind had to agree with the old man now, even if he hadn't at the time. Taking drinks from strangers at a bar, not knowing what was in those drinks. He could have gotten into serious trouble.  
John folded up the belt and pointed at a fallen tree.

He didn't need to explain further, after all, this wasn't their first rodeo, and Dean sighed, as he walked over to the tree, undid his jeans, pushed them down and bent over the trunk, carefully choosing a place without any pointy branches that might poke him, when he started wriggling. He knew he would. He'd keep still as long as he could, but no one got through a John Winchester belting without wriggling. And yelling. And there would probably be tears, if he had to be honest.

The green air was split by the whistle and crack of a leather belt hitting bare skin when John laid the first strip on his errant son, leaving a red welt at the very top of the thighs, where the ragged briefs didn't give even the slightest protection. With great care and precision, he painted the boy's hind side red, stripe after stripe, from that first one, up the ass and down to mid-thigh. Dean stood like a statue for the first part, but as John started putting welts on skin already tender from the first round, the boy had to give up.  
He wriggled as the belt whistled through the air, kicked when it landed, and when John started the third round the kid simply collapsed over the tree trunk and sobbed wretchedly.

John stopped, drew his old, worn belt back through its loops, hoisted his son up by the shoulder, and pulled him into a rough hug. When the kid calmed down a bit, and stopped soaking his flannel shirt with saltwater, he pushed him back a little, to look into his face.  
"I love you, son. Very much. I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you. I cannot bear to lose you or Sam. You hear me?"  
"Yessir, yes dad. I'm sorry."  
John did something he rarely did. He leaned down to kiss his son on the forehead.  
"Good. Then let's get back to Sam, before he worries too much."

BLINK-BLINK

There was a feeling like the world slipped sideways and Dean was back in the hallway.  
He went straight for the next door, hesitated, then skipped two doors down and changed to the other side of the hallway. He took a deep breath, rubbed his ass, which was still aching in remembrance, and opened the door to a motel room.

"So, boys."  
Dad was leaning against the door  
Dean turned to face his dad, feeling Sam move in next to him. Shoulder by shoulder, the way they had always faced not only their dad, but everything the world had thrown at them.  
"Yes, Sir."  
Sam's voice was quiet and tense.  
Dad moved into the room  
"You ignored a direct order back there."  
Again it was Sam, who answered quietly:  
"Yes, sir."  
Dean clenched his jaw for a moment before he added:  
"Yeah, but we saved your ass."  
He felt, more than saw, the nervous sideways look Sam shot him and swallowed as he met his father's dark eyes.  
To his astonishment Dad, after a brief silence, said:  
"You're right."  
"I am?"  
"It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family. So... we go after this damn thing. Together."

Just as Dean felt his face relax into a grin, Dad turned to Sam and said.  
"We need to talk. Dean – go out on the porch, Sam, bathroom."  
The brothers exchanged a startled look. Surely Dad wasn't going to...  
Apparently, he was. The sounds coming from the bathroom was unmistakable.  
Dean felt his hands curl up into fists. It wasn't right, they were adults, and besides it'd been his responsibility, his idea, not Sammy's. He turned his back on the door and leaned on the rail.

After a while that seemed like forever, he heard the door open. He turned around, saw Sam leaning his shoulder on the wall, careful not to let his ass touch anything. He looked utterly exhausted, his eyes red in a pale face.  
"You ok, Sammy?"  
"I'll be fine, worry about yourself, he wants to see you now."

Dean huffed and straightened up, before he marched to the bathroom to face the music.  
"Dad, don't you think we are a bit old for this? I'm 26, man!"  
"Yes, and I'm still you father, and I still call the shots around here. Ignoring a direct order, you know what that means."  
"Yessir, it's always meant a dance with your belt, but surely…"

John just pointed at the toilet, and Dean gave up. Might as well get it over with. The old man was stubborn as a … donkey… and to keep protesting would just make it all worse in the end. He pushed his jeans down and put his hands on the closed lid of the toilet.  
John swung.  
Dean grunted.  
John seemed to be in a hurry, the belt flew so fast, that Dean barely had time to gasp in a breath before the next lash landed.  
When John had made sure that every part of Deans ass was a welted red, from hips almost to the knees, and Dean was reduced to a yelping mess, he finally relented and put the damn belt back on.  
Dean stood were he was for a minute or two, trying to get some semblance of control back.  
He'd been hurt worse in fights, heck he'd been stabbed and shot a few times, but there was something much more draining about bending over like this for punishment, not fighting back, trying to take the pain in silence, submitting to it.

When he finally stood up and turned around, he got pulled off balance by his old man dragging him into a fierce hug.  
"Don't scare me like that. I can't lose you or Sam. You must be careful. If we do this together, you promise me, you'll be careful. Both of you. Ok?"  
"Ok, Dad, ok…"

BLINK – BLINK

Dean was back in the hallway, he staggered a bit, trying to get his feet under him. Damn it, now his ass really was throbbing.  
But of course, Billie had been right. There were worse things behind some of those doors. These two memories, although unpleasant, was also warm in a way.  
From the safe distance of time, they were something he could look back at almost fondly.

He resolutely opened the next door. And stepped into Bobby's house.

Grabbing a six pack from the fridge he headed to the living room and jostled Sam to get to a comfy spot on the couch.  
Truth be told, he probably could have sat down easily without even touching his brother, but where was the fun in that?  
Bobby saved the beers just before they tumbled to the floor as the jostling turned into wrestling.  
And shortly thereafter, as the wrestling was about to turn into an outright brawl, the ruckus was pulled up short by Bobby, who, with excellent marksmanship, landed an openhanded slap on the back of each young man's head as they rolled from couch to floor in a tangled heap of long limbs.  
The tussle stopped, two hands rubbed two heads simultaneously as two voices exclaimed:  
"Oow. Sorry, Bobby..."  
"Idjits."  
Bobby turned up the sound as Chuck Norris swaggered onto the screen of the old tv.

BLINK - BLINK

Dean smiled and walked across the hall to open another door.

He was standing in Bobby's kitchen in the middle of the night. Cas was inches from his face, voice low and stern:  
"There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in."

BLINK

He was in a dirty alley. Cas had him pressed against a brick wall, livid with rage.  
"I rebelled for this?! So that you could surrender to them?"  
Dean gasped out desperately: "Cas! Please! "  
Cas growled back: "I gave everything for you. And this is what you give to me."

BLINK

He was behind the wheel of Baby, Sam by his side, just as things were supposed to be. Although they were rather battered, all three of them.  
Dean looked as his brother: "We'll get Cas to fix you up. "  
Sam smiled slightly and replied with: "Only if he fixes you up, too."

BLINK

They were walking down the stairs to of the bunker, Cas waiting by the table.  
"Dean, I'm so sorry, please let me fix that."  
"It's ok Cas, really, I had it coming, there nothing to apologize for. But yeah, thanks, but, just - fix Sammy up first, ok?"

As Cas put his hand on Dean's cheek and let his power flow into him, their eyes met.  
The rush of warmth was that of family, a bond of friendship, brotherhood and forgiveness, and all was right with the world for a moment.

BLINK-BLINK

Dean reached for a new door, but the handle felt suspiciously hot to the touch, and on the edge of hearing there were the dim sounds of agonized screams. He pulled his hand away fast and hurriedly opened the next door instead.

This one had a handle that seemed slightly cold, and as the door swung open, Dean stopped, staring slack jawed at the scene beyond.  
The room behind the door was stock full of penguins.  
Penguins everywhere.  
Apart from a vague idea that they were flightless fish-eating birds, that dressed like a particularly snooty kind of butler, he'd never really thought about penguins.  
But here there were an astonishing range of penguins of all types and sizes. From some rather big ones, who just stood there looking down their beaks at him with aristocratic disdain to some small energetic fellows, who were jumping and skipping everywhere as if they had overindulged on some kind of probably illegal substance.  
Dean slowly closed the door and stood for a moment in the bright hallway blinking to himself. In a life full of weird and extraordinary experiences finding a room full of penguins in the hallways of his mind probably shouldn't even register as a blip on the screen, but it still threw him a little. Why were he storing penguins in here?

Oh, well. He reached for the door on the opposite side of the hallway, hoping that he would be spared anymore unexpected meetings with members of the fauna.

They were in the bunker.  
Charlie was in front of him, her broken arm in a sling. Dean felt his heart break all over again, as he tried to tell her how sorry he was.  
"I'm so sorry kiddo."  
She pierced him with a look.  
"Then prove it."

BLINK

Sam's room. Charlie was on the bed, beside him, snuggled familiarly into his side. Sam was in a chair next to the bed. Charlie looked up at him, smiling.  
"I promise you, it's good – you'll love this."  
She turned back to the tv, where a spaceship flew over a herd of horses.  
Dean scoffed: "What? Is it some sort of space-cowboy- show?"  
Charlie grinned: "Just wait and see."

BLINK - BLINK

He was in an old cabin with Sam. Sam was eating, Dean was seething. He pressed a button on the phone in his hand.  
"Sam, it's been six months. I can only assume you're dead. If not, don't try and reach me. You won't be able to. I won't be calling this number anymore. "  
Dean stood, tossed the phone at his brother.  
"He was our responsibility. And you couldn't answer the damn phone."

Sam tried to back away, get the table between them, when his older brother suddenly rushed at him, but he'd just spend a year living "normal" while his brother had spent that same time running, fighting, every hour of every day.  
Sam didn't stand a chance.  
Before he'd even regained his balance, he found himself face down over the table, one hand twisted behind his back, his brother's elbow digging into his neck.  
He struggled in vain, while he heard the sound of a leather belt leaving a pair of ragged jeans, but when Dean started in on him, he stopped moving, and decided that if this was what was needed to let his brother move on, so be it.  
His acquiescence didn't last long, though. Dean was angry, and although he was in an awkward position, holding Sam's twisted arm with one hand, he made every lash be felt, even through Sam's jeans.  
When Sam resumed his efforts to free himself, he managed to push himself off the table, but then Dean swept his feet from under him, and when the dust settled, Sam was on the floor, one arm still twisted behind him, Dean's knee digging into his back, pressing the air out of his lungs.  
Half smothered he twisted and turned, kicked and complained while his brother whipped him as he'd never been whipped before and hoped never to be again.  
When Dean finally let him up, he was ready to yell at him, until he got a good look at the bleakness of Dean's face. It was obvious that Dean was expecting him to yell, to walk away, to disappear forever. So, he didn't. Instead he just rubbed his ass, looked at his brother and said:  
"Let's load that last message into my laptop, maybe we can get some info out of it, that'll lead us to Kevin."  
The look of relief in Dean's eyes made Sam's heart ache.

BLINK.

"So, Dean."  
"Yeah, Sam? What's up?"  
"Time to talk."  
Wary now: "About what?"  
"You tricking me into saying yes to Gadreel."  
"I knew you'd be pissed…"  
"Damn right I am. But it's time to settle the score. So, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."  
"What are you talking about?"  
In reply Sam just slowly took of his belt and doubled it up.  
"No way. Nope. Not going to happen."  
"Yes, it is. We can fight first if you want to, but this is going to happen, and then we'll talk no more about it, and I promise to stop being pissed."  
"You mean – I let you smack me with that, and its clean slate? All forgiven and all that?"  
"Yep, Dad's old recipe. Let's see if it still works."  
"Dammit Sammy. You serious?"  
"Deadly. We do this, or I walk. Your choice."

Dean froze. He stared at his brother, but saw no bending, no leniency, just unrelenting determination. He sighed.

"Where do you want me?"  
"Drop your jeans and boxers and put your hands on the wall."  
Dean rolled his eyes. Bare-assed. Typical Sammy-being-a-dick-move. He leaned on the wall with one hand while he undid his clothes with the other.

The first lash had him on his toes, the next left him gasping.  
Sam didn't draw it out. And to be fair, he didn't go as far as he could have, as Dean would have let him, but when he finally said:  
"Ok, that'll do,"  
Dean was leaning on the wall with not just his hands, but his elbows too and had a good chunk of flannelshirt between his teeth to stop the whimpers.  
Tears were rolling slowly down his cheeks as he turned unsurely towards his little brother, but Sam just let go of the belt and pulled him into a hug.

BLINK-BLINK

Dean rubbed his ass – again – yeah, he remembered that one. Sam's forgiveness had come at a price. He'd slept on his stomach for two days. And had carried the welts for a week.

With a sigh he reached for another door.

Back in the bunker. They were piled into the kitchen, all of Team Free Will 2.0. They were eating pizza, Sam was roaring with laughter over something someone had said. Jack was smiling, looking a little confused, not sure what it was that was so funny, and Cas was grinning indulgently like an older uncle at the shenanigans of youngsters.  
Dean smiled at his family.

BLINK – BLINK

Dean stood in the hallway for a little while, laughing quietly to himself. Yep.  
That had been a nice evening. A simple hunt, cleaning out a nest of vampires, then back home with fresh pizza.  
They had seen some sort of movie afterwards, but he'd forgotten which one.  
Probably Star Wars, if Jack had had a say in it. Kid was obsessed.

He opened the next door with confidence.

He was looking out his own eyes at Sam.  
Sam was looking scared.  
Dean heard Michael yell distantly in his ears and looked around confused. Sam took a step forward.

"Dean?"  
"Yeah, Sammy?"  
"Dean! It's really you – where's Michael, did you cast him out? What happened?"  
"I… Oh, shit, he's still in here. I've got him… I've got him… Don't worry Sammy, I've got him."  
"Get him out! Hurry. I thought we'd lost you. I thought, I'd have to kill you or your body or… Michael said that you were gone, were in the empty."  
"Lying bag of dicks. I was in here, just way down… Shit Sammy – I can't die! I mustn't! I've got Michael trussed up… I have to get him out, have to stay alive."  
"Dean?"  
"Billie – she threatened me, Sam."  
"Death threatened you? With what?"  
"She said, I wasn't allowed to die, that **we** aren't allowed to die, we have work to do and if she finds us in the veil, she'll kick us back down here."  
"Is that a threat or a promise?"  
"Well, she said… said… that", the words came out in a rush of embarrassment, "that she'd spank us first, then throw us back to Earth. We've got to stay alive Sammy, I really don't want to get spanked by Death herself!"  
"Uhmm. Oh. Ok, Dean. If you can get Michael out of you, Cas, Jack and I are ready with a trap-spell Rowena cooked up. Where is he now? Can you throw him out?"  
"Oh, yes I've got him… I stuffed him in with the penguins. I'll go get him… be ready!"

Dean's eyes went glassy as he retreated back into his mind. Sam stared at his brother with deep confusion.

"Penguins?!"


End file.
